


hello my old heart

by Sundance201



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bit Stream of Consciousness, F/M, References to Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundance201/pseuds/Sundance201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes gave his heart to Molly Hooper a long time ago - she just never knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hello my old heart

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite a new chapter of "Contact," although that is in the works. I wrote this very early this morning and even though it's sort of weird; I like it. I really enjoyed playing with the idea that Sherlock is very much in love with Molly and has been completely aware of the fact the entire time - hopefully I kept his thoughts and actions still very "Sherlock." This is also very different compared to my usual writing style, but it seemed to fit. Hope that you enjoy it while waiting for the last chapter of "Contact"!
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing you see belongs to me, which saddens me every day. The title is from the brilliant song "Hello my Old Heart" by The Oh Hellos and served as the inspiration for this story.

Sherlock Holmes, contrary to popular belief, does experience human emotion.  He _feels_ things quite deeply in fact.  The difference is he locks it away because emotion interferes with logic, interferes with his mind, and what use is it when everyone wants him for his intelligence? 

 

He gave into feelings once.  Good feelings, bad feelings, and the substances to chase them all away.  It took him three stints in rehab to rid him of the habit.  He swore he would never return to it.

 

So it is a mere inconvenience when he walks into the lab at St. Bart’s Hospital and is greeted with a small elfish woman, with big brown eyes and a nervous smile - her posture, clothes, lack of a manicure, and two year old cell phone tell him all that he needs to know about her person.  Her name tag provides the rest.  “Dr. Hooper, I am Sherlock Holmes.  I consult with Greg Lestrade of the Scotland Yard.  You will find that I have clearance to view bodies, perform experiments, and use the lab equipment.”

 

He braces himself for the endless prattle that is sure to emerge from her mouth, the protestations and endless hoops for him to jump through before she grants his- “Ok,” she replies, flushing slightly and her nervous grin increasing in size.

 

Oh.

 

“The body that Detective Inspector Lestrade called ahead about is all laid out, if you’d like to take a look.  Just make sure you put on gloves if you touch it,” she tells him and ducks her head slightly, before turning on her heel and leading him to the body laid out on the slab. 

 

It would appear as if Dr. Molly Hooper, the newest pathologist at Bart’s, finds him attractive.  While he doesn’t dabble in temptations of the flesh anymore, he could find this useful.  A woman besotted is easier to manipulate, especially if she is thrown a bone now and then. 

 

That night, when Sherlock returns to his flat, he retreats into his Mind Palace and creates a room for Molly Hooper, intending to collect information that will be useful later on.  He files away his observations about her today for future reference.  His heart doesn’t even stir in his chest.      

 

It isn’t long before Molly (she has insisted on her first name being used, she blushes every time she says his) is the only pathologist he will work with at Bart’s.  It’s a combination of factors, but mainly it is due to the fact that Molly is actually quite intelligent and that she is the only one willing to work with him.  She also brings him coffee when he asks, which is a huge plus.  She rarely denies his requests and when it seems as if she is wavering, he compliments her choice of make-up, hair, shoes, or perfume.  He’s found that physical comments are the quickest route to compliance and he would never dare compliment her clothes.  His compliments are always at least truthful.  (The cherry jumper she insists on wearing makes her look like a 12 year old.  He does not dwell on the fact that his favorite fruit has always been cherries.)

 

The first time his heart stirs is about six months after their first initial meeting.  He enters the lab with his usual bravado and just barely manages to suppress the eye-roll that is his instinctual reaction to Molly’s squeak.  “Molly, I require your assistance and the lab for an experiment.”

 

“Oh!  Sherlock! I uh…well, you see, I was uh…just leaving,” she says quietly, biting her lip and her eyes looking absolutely anywhere but him. 

 

He immediately pouts his lower lip and softens his eyes.  “Oh.  Well no rush, I suppose.  It’s just for a case Lestrade needed my help on.  No matter.”

 

She gnaws on her lower lip.  Molly Hooper is an inherent do-gooder.  Throwing out that it is for a case for Lestrade will immediately put her into a moral conflict.  “It’s just…I have a date, Sherlock and…I…oh sod it,” she mutters, sliding her coat that was half-way on back down her arms and laying it across her chair.  “Go ahead and set it up, Sherlock.  Be back in a mo.”

 

He ignores her soft voice as she calls her date and cancels and is already setting up the samples when she returns with two steaming cups of coffee in her hands.  She sets his down in front of him.  “Wasn’t really looking forward to it anyway,” she mutters and Sherlock manages to restrain his sigh and a sharp retort about how he doesn’t really care.  But suddenly, Molly’s eyes take on a wicked gleam that he’s never seen before and she actually meets his gaze.  “He wasn’t too clever.  You would have hated him.  Made Mr. Davies down in the freezer look like a lively bloke.”

 

Much to his surprise, he lets out a brief chuckle at her morbid joke; remembering the bashed-in face of the said man in the freezer.  Molly had just completed his autopsy when Sherlock was in yesterday.  Her eyes sparkle and Sherlock notes, completely objectively of course, that Molly Hooper is a rather attractive woman, in a sort of girlish way.  Especially when she wears her hair in that side plait style that she did the previous Monday. 

 

Upon his next prolonged visit to his Mind Palace, he finds that Molly’s room has shifted from the second floor in the east wing (easily accessible but not used for everyday situations) to the west wing on the first floor (the same place he keeps Victor Trevor and a few of the homeless network and Lestrade).  It’s a more emotion-driven portion of his Mind Palace, that particular wing leads to the cellar where he keeps all his sentiment locked up.  He dismisses it as a convenience – on the first floor, she is more accessible and he is finding himself more and more in her presence at Bart’s.  Having her information ready at the forefront of his mind is simply an exercise in efficiency. 

 

He does not give thought to the fact that her room in his Mind Palace seems more welcoming than the rest. 

 

He continues to acquire little tidbits of information that he adds to her room, pulling them out when necessary.  Oddly enough, he does not often find that he has to manipulate her into doing things for him.  She, inexplicably, seems to want to do things for him simply because of her affection for him.  It’s almost baffling to him.  

 

On his birthday (and he is curious as to how she found out exactly when it was but will not deign to ask her), he is greeted with a homemade fairy cake in front of his most-used microscope (she calls it his favorite but that is ridiculous because he certainly does not feel sentiment for an appliance, he simply likes routine).  He is not on a case and so he eats it and he is unsurprised that it is delicious.  She often comes in smelling of various baked goods, not to mention the flour that occasionally clings to her shirts and pants.  He knows she is quite an accomplished baker because he knows nearly everything about Molly Hooper.

 

He finishes his experiment (for his own personal knowledge and she giggles when he tells her with near-delight what exactly he is studying with the rotting grapes sitting in a plastic bag beside him) and Molly approaches him, her hands behind her back.  “You mustn’t tell anyone that I’ve done this,” she near whispers as she brings her hands out in front of her. 

 

Molly Hooper gives him a human hand to take home and experiment on for his birthday.  The smile that he gives her isn’t even faked. 

 

It is two weeks later when he discovers that her room in his Mind Palace is now down in the cellar.  He is perturbed, to say the least.  His knowledge of her is now stored with his sentiment - with the memories of baking cookies with Mummy during the summer and Mycroft returning home from boarding school and the secret glee he found when he stole a boat for a case two years ago and finally got to live out his childhood pirate fantasies for a few hours. 

 

He ruminates on this for hours.  He apparently has fallen in love with Molly Hooper without realizing it. 

 

Finally, he decides there is nothing to be done.  She is the only one who will work with him and give in to his whims in the pathology department and she is a vital resource.  In fact, falling in love with Molly Hooper is a strength, he decides.  If he gives her his heart, it can stay locked away in her room, with all the other little facets of her, and he will not have to worry about it.  It’s the perfect solution.  No chance of sentiment getting in the way of his faculties again.

 

If he wakes up that night, aching for her and haunted by the image of that dreadful cherry jumper on his bedroom floor, he deletes the experience immediately. 

 

He meets John Watson and he finds out about his fan and he realizes that she was asking him on a _date_ (stupid mistake really and he’s slightly embarrassed that he misread her so horribly).  Time passes and Molly Hooper is simply there.  His heart does not beat faster when she is around; he does not stammer when he talks to her, he does not do any of the things that Molly does around him.  But sometimes, in between cases, he retreats to her room in the Mind Palace and just goes through everything he’s gathered in the two years he’s known her.  He decides he likes when she wears her hair in a side plait; his favorite color on her is blue; he has only seen her in a skirt six times; she has been in four relationships since she met him and she abandoned every single one of them to assist him with one experiment or another. 

 

John barely knows her name.  Sherlock knows everything about her. 

 

Jim from I.T. happens.  Sherlock is furious that someone would dare to intrude on their time in the lab.  He slips.  He destroys her relationship in front of her in less time than it takes her to usually make him coffee and she runs out of the room with tears in her eyes.  Typically, he is a little more subtle in his sabotage of her relationships.  He has little time to dwell on his mistake though, with his fan being such an intriguing mystery.

 

Jim from I.T. turns out to be Jim Moriarty.  Jim Moriarty straps a bomb to John and makes him say things and for one awful moment, Sherlock believes that his only _friend_ is the one who has been orchestrating everything (John’s room in the Mind Palace migrated to the cellar at an almost astonishing rate and Sherlock might be more worried about it, if it weren’t so damned nice to have someone around who tolerated and even occasionally liked him). 

 

Moriarty threatens to burn the heart out of him and even though Sherlock denies the existence of it, Moriarty smiles a funny little smile and tells him that they both know that isn’t true.  It takes all of his well-practiced control to not call Molly right then and there.

 

Moriarty used her.  Used her to get to him.  Moriarty kissed her and wined and dined her and touched her.  His Molly.  His. 

 

His heart.    

 

Sherlock keeps his cool and it’s all rather anti-climactic when Moriarty simply walks away, but he’s thankful.  He’s certain that John is as well.  They return to Baker Street together and John assures him that he wants to talk but right now just wants to fall into bed. 

 

Sherlock lets him and retreats to his room and immediately phones Molly.  His mind conjures up terrible images of her, dead in her flat and he breathes a soft sigh of relief when she finally picks up.  “Sherlock?” her voice is thick with sleep and he closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep control.  She’s alive.  She’s safe.  She’s unaware of everything.  “S’wrong?”

 

“Molly, there’s been an incident tonight.  John and I are fine, but…we need to speak to you tomorrow morning.  It is in regards to Jim.”

 

“Oh,” she sounds slightly more awake now, as well as a strange mixture of relief and embarrassment.  “I uh…I broke it off with him, Sherlock.”

 

“Probably for the best, seeing as he is the one who orchestrated the bombings.”  She gasps but he just plows along.  “As I said, we have things to discuss.  John and I will be around at 3 tomorrow.  Please try to get some rest.”

 

“Sherlock - ”  He hangs up on her.  It is cruel and he knows it.  But he also knows that if he continues to talk to her on the phone, there will be little holding him back from calling a cab and going over to her flat and holding her until he is absolutely certain that Moriarty will not come after her. 

 

But she is safe.  If Moriarty truly knew where his heart was, Molly would be dead by now.  The fact that she was not attested to his ignorance and Sherlock would be forever grateful for it.

 

The next day they tell her all about Moriarty because they know it won’t be in the press, but she needs to know.  She cries and John comforts her and he glares at Sherlock who just stares blankly back.  If he holds Molly, he will never let her go.  Neither of them need that. 

 

He encounters the Woman and he is fascinated and he is attracted but it is not sentiment.  It is lust and while it is distracting, it is tolerable.  She texts him and he reads them and he goes on with his life. 

 

And then it’s Christmas.  He dreads the holidays and the grating messages of good will towards men and that damned Woman is still texting him nearly every day.  He is even more miserable than usual because John, in all his well-intentioned holiday cheer, has invited people over to their flat.  Granted, they are at least people he can tolerate, but still.  It is a party and Sherlock Holmes does not engage in them.

 

His foul mood paradoxically worsens and lifts when Molly walks through the door.  It then unequivocally returns with a vengeance when she takes off her coat.  She looks ridiculous, with the bow in her hair and her visible bra straps and her red lipstick. 

 

He wants to haul her off into his bedroom and not let her out until she no longer smells of the gingerbread cookies she’s been baking and simply smells of him.  And so he is unnecessarily cruel with her, deducing her new beau in front of everyone, setting out to embarrass her because damn it, he is in control of his sentiment and how dare she come into _his_ flat and make him _want_ like this?

 

But he did not deduce this.  There is no new boyfriend.  There is only him.  Because Molly Hooper’s crush has never gone away, it has apparently only intensified and god help him, she signed the card “Love Molly xxx.” 

 

His instinct is to run.  He nearly does.  But her voice, broken and sad but stronger than he ever remembers it being, calls him out.  And he only wants to make it right.  He apologizes, ignoring everyone else in the room because he can feel their scorn and incredulity anyway, and leans in to kiss her cheek.  Her skin is just as soft as he’s always imagined (and he’s stopped deleting those nights when he wakes up moaning her name) and he nearly takes her lips as his own personal Christmas gift – better than anything in her box, no matter what she’s gotten him. 

 

But then the Woman’s ridiculous text alert sounds and he’s distracted.  It’s for the best; his sentiment nearly got the best of him.

 

It’s a strange sort of foreshadowing – sentiment besting the mind. 

 

He sits in his brother’s sitting room months later, disgraced and embarrassed as the Woman talks about how she beat him.  But suddenly, he remembers.  He remembers her pulse and her eyes and her voice and his mind makes the connection to Molly.  That is the way that Molly looks and sounds when she talks to him.  Molly Hooper is in love with him.  Fact. 

 

Irene Adler is in love with him.  Fact.

 

He means every word he says.  Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.  The chemistry of love is simple and destructive.  Love is a dangerous disadvantage.  It is why he keeps his heart locked away with Molly Hooper. 

 

Molly Hooper is not Irene Adler.  She does not play any games; therefore, she does not lose them.  She is the safest place to invest all his sentiment and love because she will never give them up.  She isn’t even aware she’s in possession of them.  It’s the perfect solution.

 

Or so he thinks.  But then Moriarty returns and suddenly everything is spiraling out of his control.  And it doesn’t matter now how carefully he has planned everything because he needs her.  His heart and his life are literally in her hands and it is time that she knows it. 

 

Just the thought of him dying is enough to bring tears to her eyes.  His heart, locked away in her room in his Mind Palace begins to beat.  She doesn’t need anything from him, has never needed anything from him; she has only wanted and he has only denied.  She has no reason to help him, to help the lost man that Sherlock Holmes has become. 

 

But she does.  And his heart nearly bursts with love for her. 

 

She kills him and then harbors him in her flat.  She washes the blood from his hair and puts him to bed and takes care of him.  He loves her more with every passing day and there are so many moments that he nearly tells her of the monumental task that he has passed on to her without her knowledge.  But she has been the keeper of his heart for so long and she’s done such a fine job of it, her knowledge will hardly make a difference.   

 

He indulges once, before he leaves her to take down the spider web of Moriarty’s network.  He doesn’t bed her, as much as he wants to; because he knows that once he has been in Molly’s embrace, he will never leave.  He kisses her, softly, tenderly, nearly letting words of love and devotion and forever tumble out of his mouth before he pulls himself together and smiles softly at her.  “I will return, Molly Hooper.”

 

“I’ll wait for you, Sherlock Holmes,” she whispers, her fingers tracing his lips. 

 

Leaving the safe haven of her apartment, of her arms, is the most difficult thing he’s ever done. 

 

He is a man with a mission for the next three years.  He is a machine.  He has no feelings, no sentiment, because the door in his Mind Palace that houses all of that is kept shut with a padlock.  He needs no distractions right now and Molly has always been the best distraction.  He only allows himself to think of her on the nights that he sleeps.  When he sleeps, he dreams of her, smiling beneath him as he makes love to her and tells her of his heart. 

 

When he finally returns, after a horrendous flight with Mycroft, he waits for her in her flat until she finishes her shift at Bart’s.  She screams and drops her bag to the floor when she walks in and sees him sitting on her couch.  He stands but before he can process what’s happening, she launches herself at him, her legs curling around his waist and flinging her arms around his neck and his hands automatically go to her back to keep her in place around him. 

 

She pulls back and kisses him hard.  He sighs into her mouth and replies in kind.  Stumbling backwards to the couch, he sinks down into the cushions.  She pulls away and she’s trembling and crying and laughing and tracing his features with her fingertips as if she can hardly believe that he still exists.  His hands cup her face and he assures her that he does. 

 

“Molly Hooper,” he whispers to her, stroking his thumbs across her skin, “you are my heart.”


End file.
